


The Underwear That Launched a Thousand Ships

by dankassspaceweed



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s01e01 Pilot, F/M, Fluff, Post-The X-Files: I Want To Believe (2008), cleaning out their drawers, this is so dumb lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 12:29:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10616961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dankassspaceweed/pseuds/dankassspaceweed
Summary: From his position on the floor in front of their dresser, from which they are removing old clothes to bring to Goodwill, he wiggles an old pair of her underwear. A very old pair. In fact, the very pair that—“Scully,” he says, shaking his head. “Scully Scully. I would remember these anywhere.”________Post-IWTB, Mulder finds Scully's underwear from the pilot.





	

“HA!”

 

She turns around to face him. “What’s ‘ _ha’_?”

 

He wiggles his eyebrows at her. “These, Scully.” Now, from his position on the floor in front of their dresser, from which they are removing old clothes to bring to Goodwill, he wiggles an old pair of her underwear. A _very_ old pair. In fact, the very pair that—

 

“Scul _ly_ ,” he says, shaking his head. “Scully Scully. I would remember these anywhere.”

 

She wrinkles her nose. She plays it cool. “You would remember _those_ anywhere? Mulder, those look my mother’s underwear. Those look like the underwear I wore when I was twelve. Melissa would have lit those underwear on fire, in public.”

 

He cocks his head, a slow smirk peeling across his lips. “So you’re saying,” he asks, as he stands up from the floor, where he is surrounded by piles of shirts and hoodies and old jeans, “you don’t remember these?”

 

“From when?”

 

But she knows _from when_. How could she ever forget _from when_ when all she could think about for years after the fact was his fingers on the small of her back; how when he’d examined her mosquito bites it must have been the first time she’d felt his hot breath on her skin; how she hadn’t planned on dropping her robe and exposing herself to him that way, on their very first case, especially in such tensely sexy lighting, but even then he had been an irresistible harbor for her; even then she had been weak to him, tempered and calmed by him, regardless of any vulnerability shown. They had always trusted each other.

 

He walks closer to her. She feels like he’s about to pounce, like she wants it, like he’s going to tell her a secret. The billowy white panties hang from his fingertips. They’re cotton and plain and huge.

 

“You know,” he tells her, stepping into her space.

 

She blushes and rolls her eyes. Her shoulders drop. “I do. I remember.”

 

“ _These_ , Scully.” He’s still shaking his head at the panties, incredulous. “These are the underwear that launched a thousand ships.”

 

She laughs. “Yeah, a thousand slow ships,” she chides, reaching for him, wanting to kiss that smirk off his face. He pulls away, holding the underwear above her head.

 

“I doubt Helen of Troy wore Hanes,” she says.

 

“Scully Scully,” he whispers, “Don’t tease.”

 

She shrugs. “I just do not believe that these were what started it for you, Mulder. Of all the nice things you’ve seen me in, or the times you’ve seen in me naked—it was _our first case_ , Mulder! You hated me. You thought I was a spy.”

 

“I thought you were a know-it-all, Ms. Einstein.” He reels her in closer. Her thesis is still embarrassing. His voice is low and breathy. “But then you came into my room. And it was raining. And you were terrified. And you dropped your robe and shoved your ass in my face and trusted me to help you, to tell you the truth.” _It was sweet_ , he wants to say, but doesn’t. Mostly Scully prefers him to forget that she was ever _sweet_.

 

“Maybe I just wanted you to see my butt,” she whispers, but she’s unexpectedly moved by the idea that it was not the underwear Mulder remembered so clearly so much as the sentiment behind the underwear, the vulnerability that had accompanied her little display. 

 

“I saw that too,” he smiles. “I saw that butt every day in my dreams for the next, _oh_ , just about _seven years_ —”

 

“Mul- _der_ —”

 

“And by the time I saw that butt again for real, these were long, _long_ gone,” he whispers in her ear, reaching around to feel the aforementioned butt in his hands. She moans out loud, an _mmm_ sound that drives him crazy. 

 

“I was wearing a lot of black by then,” she agrees, nuzzling her nose along his neck, beginning to press her lips there. Now he is the one to groan. 

 

“I don’t think you were wearing anything at all,” he jokes. “When we finally did it.”

 

“Oh I was too.” She pulls back to look him in the eyes. “We had a _full_ conversation, Mulder, before ever sleeping togeth—”

 

“Yes, Scully,” he patronizes, “a _full conversation_ during which I was two-thirds asleep and you were running your hands through my hair and writhing over me like a sexy spirit and telling me how much you loved me while taking off our clothes. I do not think I did much conversing in that moment. I don’t think I had enough blood in my brain, if you catch my drift.” 

 

She giggles and leans against him, crumpling the virginal panties of yore in her palm. “Right,” she says. “Now I remember. You were too busy blubbering.”

 

It is a true fact that he cried for their first time. Before and after. 

 

“I think the unflappable Agent Scully shed a tear as well,” he recalls, and the weight of his palm is warm and soothing were it rests on her scalp, smoothing her hair. 

 

“Maybe she did,” Scully concedes.

 

“Funny though,” he whispers, “because even then you already knew how to need me. I’m still not sure why any tenderness on my part, when we first slept together, came as a surprise to you.”

 

“Hm?” She’s suddenly dozy, comfortable in their hug, and hopes that his analytical brain might quit the analysis and snuggle her already. 

 

He points to the underwear. “You bared yourself to me then no sweat, didn’t you?”

 

She shrugs. It had been so different in the beginning, on that first case, with none of their shit yet between them. “It was different then. It was so early. I didn’t—the tension wasn’t there yet. Between me wanting you… to comfort me, love me and me wanting you to just… respect me. I wasn’t thinking about any of that yet.”

 

“Or maybe you already trusted me to love you _and_ respect you,” he suggests. “But later you forgot.”

 

“Not for long,” she tells him. “I never forgot for long.”

 


End file.
